


Some say the world will end in fire

by Anonymous



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Aftercare, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Confusion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Forbidden Love, Gift Fic, Grief/Mourning, Guilty Pleasures, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Jealousy, M/M, Nargothrond drama tag, Sequel, Sibling Incest, Table Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension, at times Fifi is just too stupid for the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8521312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: One night in Nargothrond, Finrod sees what he thinks was never meant for him to see. Sequel to: Burning Desires





	1. Finrod

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/gifts).



> **Dear E!  
> **  
>  Thank you for being such a wonderful and kind person. You are a precious gift to mankind and the Tolkien fandom <3 Have some happy, heartbreaking Oro/Fifi - a thousand years late, as always. I hope you enjoy them.
> 
> This story is the sequel to [Burning Desires](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6756238), a Oro/Fifi fic written for the Merry Month of Masturbation. Although 'Some say the world will end in fire' can be read as a stand alone, i'd advise to read the other story beforehand.

  **Some say the world will end in fire**

*

**Finrod**

When at last Finrod’s desperate calls against his brother’s door are answered, a heavy stone tumbles from his heart. For why Orodreth remained silent for so long, he might easily guess, the hour is late already. Perhaps, he now thinks, he should simply grant Orodreth his well-deserved sleep, a sleep which didn’t come to himself tonight.

Usually, Finrod is anything but selfish, with a heart warmer and larger than is sometimes wise.

_Usually._

Well - today nothing is ordinary.

Sometimes, especially when the quarrels with their Fëanorian cousins spiral into novel heights, Finrod perceives Orodreth, his beloved little brother, as the last vestige of hope in his kingdom of lies and intrigue; as a beacon of light when the gloominess of dark shadows cannot be chased away with candles alone. Today more than ever. There is no other left he can turn to.

Usually it’s Curufin who throws Finrod out of his delicate silks, but today he hasn’t. (Though these days Finrod can’t tell what’s worse: Curufin or his nightmares? The nightmares, which Curufin both provokes and keeps at bay when darkness falls?).

Despite his racing heart, Finrod still hesitates to open the door. With a certain suspicion, he whispers to himself the words Orodreth said a second ago: _‘Come in. The door is open.’_

It’s completely out of the ordinary, especially given the unusual hour of his visit – his brother’s door is **_never_** unlocked. Yes, he has tried it before, more often than he can count. Long before his coming of age, Orodreth developed the strange habit of locking everything away; the drawings Finrod so much enjoys to look at, his personal belongings – and often enough himself.

Or did he, in all his thoughtful haze, mishear what Orodreth said?

 _‘Whatever,’_ Finrod thinks, when carefully he pushes the golden handle down. Indeed, the door is open. Emerald robes, those of the kind Finrod usually doesn’t wear outside his own quarters, brush against the grey stone when silently he steps inside, locking the door behind him.

The open door is perhaps a most fortunate coincidence as he doubts that otherwise Orodreth would let him in. Where a second ago was pure relief, the feeling mingles all too soon with alertness, especially when the smell of beeswax, burnt fabric, and sweat assaults him.

Something isn’t right, that much Finrod knows already; usually Orodreth’s rooms smell of forest and rain. The smells Curufin loathes and Celegorm loves; the smells Finrod should be indifferent to, but of late, somehow, isn’t.

In a low voice he asks for his brother, mostly to calm his nerves when suddenly the eerie silence becomes too much to bear. “Artaresto?”

This time, Orodreth doesn’t answer him.

Soon, Finrod finds out that the main room is deserted, just as the adjoining lounge with the open fireplace is. The hearth is cold and filled with ash, not lit for many days. Why that is, Finrod doesn’t have an explanation for. Usually, his brother’s rooms are always warm and cozy. Orodreth, least of all who came across the ice, is able to deal with frost and biting cold.

The layout of his brother’s quarters has only two options of where he is left: the bath or the sleeping chamber. Judging from the increasing intensity of the smell, it’s quite an easy task for Finrod to know where to go. With a pounding heart, and trembling hands, the pace of Finrod’s steps increases until, at last, he reaches him.

The door leading to his bed chamber stands wide open and whether he wishes it or not, Finrod’s gaze automatically lands on his little brother. Exactly on the doorstep, he stops dead in his tracks, not daring to enter. Instead, he stares as if spellbound, cheeks burning with shame already upon the intrusion. Without being able to remember why he originally came, the memory wiped from his mind like the winter storms clear the forest of the remains of autumn, he tries to calm his rattling mind. To no avail - Finrod feels as if he’s choked breathless (yes, a certain experience exists). What greets his eyes leaves nothing to his imagination, and the sight almost chases him out of Orodreth’s quarters again.

On emerald silks Orodreth rests upon, lasciviously stretched out with golden hair surrounding him and eyes closed, as if his mind doesn’t reside in this world for the moment. To Finrod, who is well-known to appreciate glittering things like dragons love their hoard of gold, in the low light his brother appears like a god from another world. Though throughout the years he saw him many times naked as the day he was born, it feels as only now he truly sees him. Trails of wax paint Orodreth’s body, from his shoulders down to his thighs; splashes and dots, some even appear like constellations on the golden skin. Where Orodreth’s fingers ran through it is obvious, disrupting the perfect patterns every now and then.

Finrod is quite certain this is not for him to see. Still, he remains, enthralled.  

Though common decency dictates to leave – or at least announce himself, Finrod refrains from both. Instead, he remains a while, bewitched by the way Orodreth touches himself. Languidly, he lets his fingertip dance across his nipples, not even noticing, or pretending not to notice, that Finrod is watching. Perspiration glistens on his skin like drops of dew shine in the morning sun; how much he has worn himself out is without doubt, even to Finrod, whose thoughts are hazed.

The droplets of sweat on Orodreth’s skin make Finrod think of times so long ago that it’s hard to remember them at all. Of sand beneath their feet, sticking to their soles, he thinks; of the gentle rumble of the surf; of Orodreth’s drying body, wet and salty from the sea. When they were young, they often went to the splendid beaches close to Alqualondë, enjoying the free time they were granted. The times he saw his brother naked, back then, are countless, even if right now Finrod feels as if he looks upon a stranger.

A beautiful stranger, to be assured.

Aye, doubts plague him and he does feel a little intrusive on his quiet reverie, he even lowers his gaze when shame begins to tint his cheeks.

It’s so odd, Finrod thinks – all of it. What is lasciviously splayed out before him, is surely not for him to witness. Nevertheless, Orodreth bade him enter.

_Perhaps he mistook me?_

Nervously, Finrod hands twitch in front of him when a surge of jealousy flares. It’s ridiculous – and then, it’s not.

As far as he knows, Orodreth has never been too interested in anybody since residing in his kingdom. From time to time he saw him converse with Celebrimbor in a friendly manner, and Finrod was glad for Curufin’s son when somebody could lighten his mood when Curufin’s admonishments were all too cruel.

_Could it actually be?_

Just when he is almost certain that his brother indeed expects a visitor of the special sort, Orodreth’s eyes flutter open.

“Good evening, brother mine,” he says casually with a smirk, when his gaze falls onto Finrod’s horror-stricken face. With wide eyes, he stares at Orodreth, not comprehending anything at all. That Orodreth, in his disheveled state, covered in wax and his own seed, is so completely at ease with him watching, leaves him speechless.

It’s not his brother speaking.

It’s not even his brother lying there, because the Orodreth he knows would hastily cover himself. Countless times their sister mocked him as the prudent one of the family, the one every family needs, as she never failed to mention.

_Carnistir._

_Turukáno._

_Artaresto._

“ARTARESTO!” Shock and disbelief, the futile attempt to conceal his own ridiculous excitement, make a shriek out of his brother’s name.

These days, arousal is easy enough to achieve, with temptation lurking behind every corner. That it is provoked by his brother, however, is new, Finrod tells himself as his body does not react with as much indifference as propriety demands of it.

_Celegorm._

_Curufin._

_Sometimes both._

Like a cat, and with an air of similar confidence, Orodreth stretches against the sheets. “Calm down.”

Finrod knows well he shouldn’t stare as he does; he knows he should take his leave immediately; in fact, he knows many things he should neither do nor feel. Regardless, he finally steps into his brother’s chamber and sits down at the edge of the bed, averting his eyes not to stare directly on the mess Orodreth created. Only then does Finrod see the little box he has searched for the entire day; no wonder when it sits on Orodreth’s nightstand.

Finrod blinks. “How much have you consumed?” he asks without further ado, half relieved because that explains his brother’s awkward behavior, half concerned because no matter how old they are, Orodreth will always remain his little brother, the one he feels responsible for.

Judging from Orodreth’s answer, concern must be visibly spread across Finrod’s face. “A little,” says Orodreth, waving his brother’s troubles away with a shaky hand.

“Good,” responds Finrod with a certain relief. “Then give me the casket with the rest of it.” Putting his mind back at ease perhaps isn’t the worst idea after all.

Orodreth’s nose wrinkles before he speaks. “There was only a little in it?”

Finrod’s hand flies to his mouth. “So it’s all gone? This little usually lasts a week,” he frowns, unable to keep his face concealed.

“Oh.”

Once he sees his brother’s expression of guilt, he stops, all of a sudden overwhelmed by the gratefulness that his brother is still alive. There are tales how it went differently with such an amount of drug. In his openly displayed vulnerability, almost childish, Orodreth appears more beautiful than anything Finrod has ever seen, and without thinking further, he takes his brother’s hands into his own, kissing his temples in genuine affection.

Finrod’s voice is distinct. “I can’t leave you like this.” No, he can’t, but he doesn’t exactly know what else to do. Everything that springs to his mind, seems improper and entirely out of place when his brother’s semi-erect cock lies amidst a bed of wax and seed.

A hearty yawn tumbles from Orodreth’s lips. “Why not?” Finrod isn’t quite certain if what he actually means is _‘then don’t’_.

 _‘Just look at you!’_ Finrod thinks, but doesn’t say it.

Instead, he begins to carefully wipe away the stains of half-dried semen from Orodreth’s chest with the end of his sleeves for the simple lack of anything else to use; the sheet Orodreth rests upon is sullied worse than his body. Whilst Finrod’s hands ghost over his brother’s stomach, his eyes repeatedly wander towards his Orodreth’s face – relaxed, a faint smile playing at his lips when more and more his gaze loses its focus.

Perhaps slumber would be the best option of all – for both of them.

_‘I can’t leave you as such.’_

The candle Orodreth used obviously wasn’t one specifically designed for wax play, naturally burning at higher temperatures. A grave mistake, surely, perhaps somebody should have told him that. Looking at the angry red spots across his brother’s chest speak volumes about it, and Finrod flinches from merely looking at it. Instead of searching for provocative thoughts, as he often does to spark Curufin’s temper or admonishments of what his brother did, Finrod begins to peel off each stain from the marred body in silence for the simple lack of knowing what to say. A snide remark is entirely out of place. Well, indeed it’s not, but Finrod can’t bring himself to it.

Delicate fingers, adorned with glittering jewels wander along Orodreth’s ribs in search for dots of wax. Vocally, and without shame, he responds to every single one of Finrod’s touches. That the drug heightens certain senses, especially in the bedroom, isn’t exactly new to Finrod – most of the time it was the reason for his consumption. Once being entirely against the white powder brought into his kingdom by Celegorm many years ago, he fell in love with the innocent looking crystals all too quickly when unknown heights of pleasure drove him mad. Amidst their carnal indulgences, a while ago now, he even snorted it off Curufin’s belly, something that isn’t quite comfortable to think about at the moment. Right now he is simply glad that his little brother is unharmed. Of late, when playing with fire became a constant, his wits and sanity can truly be doubted, Finrod muses, before a different thought entirely catches his attention. How did it come to pass that Orodreth lies before him like this – what did he fantasize about?

The candles flare with the slightest breeze of cool air, causing an exquisite sensation against Orodreth’s skin, Finrod notices, lying to himself that it’s the cool air that rouses him so. Though he promised to keep any provocative thoughts out of his mind, they soar, chasing away the indifference which once had been his biggest strength. He catches himself imagining how it would feel to lick over the angry red marks when he peels away the hardened wax from his brother’s skin. How should he not fall under the spell of the forbidden, when his brother’s eyes flutter close and his lips part slightly?

 _‘Artaresto!’_ he curses in silence, as if his brother purposefully tries to seduce him. Certainly, he doesn’t. Nevertheless, the effects the naughty display has on Finrod are undeniable, tricking his mind into a direction he doesn’t quite approve. As if this would make it any better, he lets his finger wander along the trail almost resembling a constellation burning brightly in the night sky to calm his nerves.

 _‘This one here, right across his nipple, or rather the one close to his bellybutton?’_ It is so wrong to even try to guess which streak of wax spiraled Orodreth into oblivion. Right then, Finrod is glad that Orodreth’s eyes are closed because the flimsy garment he’s wearing doesn’t hide very much. He is rock hard beneath the silk. Although he tells himself that everything he does is for his brother’s sake, to clean him from his nighttime escapades, Finrod knows better. He’s a terrible liar when his thoughts become an incomprehensible labyrinth.

_Why now?_

An answer doesn’t form itself in Finrod’s hazy mind, and absently, he increases the pressure on just another innocent droplet of wax. Orodreth doesn’t seem to mind the pain that comes with the scratch of fingernails as like a cat he purrs. That sound just makes everything worse, provoking twisted emotions and a strange flood of warmth in his guts. For better or for worse, he simply shouldn’t have come here tonight. Whilst he continues to peel away the wax, Finrod thinks of snow-capped peaks and lush forests, of the fresh scent left behind on their skin after a long day at the beach.

Finrod, unlike everyone else, has always looked with curiosity upon his little brother, had fought their sister when all too cruel her words were. With yet another sort of curiosity he looks at him now, unable to help the smile that creased his face when he watches him with half-lidded eyes. He can’t help the smile, when his fingertips ghost over his brother’s skin. And though it should never occur, Finrod can’t help the way his heart begins to race and warmth spreads through his body.

When at last Finrod is finished, Orodreth is a quivering mess with darkened eyes and ragged breath, his cock hard again, producing tiny pools of seed. It’s a sight to behold, a lascivious display of decadence, the perfect allegory for Nargothrond’s halls of sin. Even if it does mean that all his work, and his sullied sleeves, are for naught, he is unable to care less.  

“Shall I leave you to yourself?” Finrod brings himself to ask, not exactly knowing which answer he prefers.

“No,” states Orodreth, staring him right into the eyes. “Though naturally I must understand if my king has other nocturnal obligations to pursue.” A surge of jealously nearly overcomes Orodreth’s relaxed façade.

In any other situation, Finrod would have laughed upon the ridiculousness of the words.

Now he doesn’t.

That his touch has certain effects on his brother is undeniable, and momentarily he withdraws his hands, ashamed of what he’s been thinking. Instead he watches his fair face, trying to see the familiar features which somehow vanished, those tiny flickers of hurtful emotions he is easily able to read. _‘Is he waiting for you?’_

In surprise, Finrod gasps. “You are jealous.”

Orodreth doesn’t even try to deny it. “Yes.”

The determination in his voice startles him as much as the answer, and in confusion, Finrod blinks. “I have always assumed our cousin isn’t exactly your type.”

“No need to be concerned. I won’t snatch him away from you.” An ungraceful snort of disgust leaves Orodreth’s lips. “He isn’t.”

“I do not understand.” When he does, Finrod’s mouth drops open. “That must mean –“

Upon this, Orodreth laughs. “Your wits are sharp tonight, brother mine.”

Another stretch, and Orodreth’s body surges into a sitting position. From where he takes the energy for it all of a sudden will remain a mystery.

“This isn’t half as amusing as you think it is, Artaresto,” Finrod bristles.

Before he knows what is happening, Orodreth’s hands are upon his body, right there where he least wishes it. “Who cares about amusement when the arousal is undeniable?” The words are nothing more than a seductive whisper. Right then, Finrod doubts his brother’s sanity – not for the first time tonight.

“You’re not yourself tonight,” Finrod admonishes him in a burst of outrage, slapping the hands away from his burning skin, even if the touch felt exquisite.

Although hurt briefly flickers across his features, Orodreth smirks all the more. “What a most fortunate coincidence.”

Finrod watches him seriously. “Irony is a low humor, Artaresto.”

In response, Orodreth purses his lips, edging closer until their foreheads almost touch. “A little kiss for your beloved brother?” he ask like the child he hasn’t been for thousands of years. “Don’t be such a prude.”

“Forget about it!” Finrod is at a loss for words, not knowing what else to say. Orodreth cannot be serious, he just cannot be.

Although he should not consent to the foolish game his brother is playing with him, Finrod’s defense begins to waver, although enough strength persists to deny Orodreth’s wish. What harm would come to simply ask the question burning on his mind since Orodreth’s confession. “Was it me, then, you were thinking about whilst .. doing this?”

They are too close now, their skin almost touching. So close that Finrod can feel the heat escaping from his brother’s body. For the first time tonight, he doesn’t flinch away, too occupied with guessing what the answer may be.  

“Creating this mess you mean?” With unknown playfulness Orodreth chuckles, before he admits it with a nod. Still too occupied to direct his twisted thoughts, his brother bridging the remaining gap goes unnoticed, until he feels lips upon his own.

Some when in between, Orodreth must have raised a hand, thin and shaky to gently hold the side of Finrod’s head. The touch of Orodreth’s lips is barely there, fragile as snowflakes sailing down the midnight sky, yet it’s enough to feel his brother’s excitement against his mouth.

When they part, his hand wanders under Orodreth’s chin. “Artaresto.. we shouldn’t.” The words fall into the space between their lips.

Bitterness creeps into Orodreth’s voice when he turns his head away in disappointment. “Neither should you run after him like a bitch in heat,” he lashes out, not unfairly so, Finrod has to admit. There is no need to elaborate further of whom he speaks. “The pile of our sins is high enough already. What does a little more matter at the end?”

Nothing, thinks Finrod, remembering all of a sudden why originally he sought his brother out at this ridiculous hour. The invisible threat he dreaded for so long has come at last.

Why should he care about morals and propriety, when there is Orodreth, his little brother, eyes bright and dark at the same time?

Through his mental haze the words barely reach him. “I want it,” states Orodreth with solemn desperation. “I want you, Findaráto. Perhaps I’ve wanted you all my life.”

Finrod flinches when Orodreth touches his face again, a tender finger brushing against his cheek, almost as if he wishes to give his words strength.

_So do I._

In a last, futile attempt of self-defense, in ridiculous hope to hide what plagues him, Finrod scolds him harshly. “You do not know what you want in this state.”

In the darkness of his own chambers with only the Nauglamír reflecting the flickering firelight, he could tell and retell the tale about _not being interested_ until he might have believed it. In the brightness of his brother’s rooms, he feels unable to feign ignorance, desire and temptation calling to him, even though he should know better. Or if not that, perhaps, he could pretend it is just one more insane adventure, that he can never deny his little brother anything, and in truth he’s not interested.

 _‘Liar.’_ The cacophony of his own voice rings shrill in his head. _‘See what you have become.’_

Upon the persisting silence, Orodreth looks quizzically at him, before he leans in, probably because he doesn’t know what else to do.

When their lips meet, without Finrod flinching away from the touch, it is tentative at first, nothing more than a mere brush of contact, not much more than awkward brotherly affection after too much wine. Briefly, in a last spark of sanity, Finrod reconsiders – there is still time to escape, to pretend none of it had ever happened.

But does he want that?

Shall Orodreth remember him as the ridiculous coward he’s always been at the end of days?

Caught between doubt and desire, Finrod hesitates to respond but doesn’t pull back, giving Orodreth enough time to press his lips fully against him. The taste of him is rich and splendid, his lips so careful and sensual at the same time moving against his mouth.

The war he fights with himself is finally lost when trembling hands fly around his neck, pulling him close.

It should feel strange, to be kissed by Orodreth like this, Finrod thinks when he slides his tongue along his brother’s bottom lip, realizing the mistake of his thought immediately. In his mind he rephrases it to the more appropriate version – _‘it should feel strange, to kiss Orodreth like this’_ , because it’s to no avail to pretend passiveness. A pulse of desire flows through Finrod when Orodreth opens his mouth to him, an invitation he accepts and wholeheartedly embraces. When last he tasted something so genuine, so innocent despite the circumstances, Finrod doesn’t know – there’s nothing manipulating, nothing scheming in everything Orodreth does; plainly simple and undisguised affection that warms Finrod’s shattered heart.

It’s only them, and them alone – until the world shall fade. 

Under the softest of touches, Orodreth moans, eyes dilating even further although Finrod doubts it’s even possible when slowly he sinks into oblivion. Mesmerized, he watches for a moment, eyes intent, before he presses his mouth to the curve of his brother’s cheekbone, the tip of his nose, just everywhere he can reach him. A silent apology for all the wrongs he did, perhaps, a silent plea for Orodreth to continue.

“Findaráto – “ Orodreth starts to say, reaching for him. One sure and steady hand cups Finrod’s cheeks, thumb rubbing across it in gentle circles. What he actually wishes to say remains unsaid as instead he covers Finrod’s lips with his own. In a searing kiss, as if a maelstrom is finally unleashed, their lips crush together; with teeth and tongues, waves of guilt, and doubts and hope mingle when Finrod closes his eyes to delve into the sensation his own flesh’s hands and lips cause. When they let go of each other, Finrod pulls away with a faint smile upon his lips.

There is doubt, and then there is unfathomed affection in his brother’s eyes.  

But there’s more – desire burning so brightly, that it might easily sear him.

Orodreth’s fingertips brush against Finrod’s chest, and even such feathery touch is enough to provoke a firework of emotions, seesawing his vision. His lips unite with his, and although he cannot distinguish the emotions anymore, he feels the rolling surf crush against his body when Orodreth’s fingers begin their mindless journey, much rougher than Finrod had ever dared to think.

Whilst parts of his mind still bid him to run, he doesn’t listen anymore, cannot listen when nails dig into his skin. _Alas!_ If roughness is what Orodreth is after tonight, it is an easy task comply. Whilst he responds to his brother’s kiss with enthusiasm, Finrod’s own hands wander along Orodreth’s back, scratching and bruising him.  

Through the fabric, Orodreth grasps Finrod’s cock, stroking it slowly, most likely awaiting his hands to be slapped away again. The expected movement never comes. Instead, he can watch the shiver ricochet up Finrod’s spine, can feel his tongue inside his mouth, questing, and demanding. Half unexpected, and half not, Orodreth doesn’t pull away until they are both panting and breathless, lips swollen and faces flushed. When at last he does, a beautiful little smile adorns his lips. Bewitched, all Finrod can do is to smile back in return, before his lips are sealed anew.

When the first appetite is sated, it is as if Orodreth awakes from his mental haze. “Why have you come?” His voice is quiet and intimate and so terribly familiar, making Finrod wish to put his arms around him once more as the words linger on his skin, leaving gooseflesh of the uncomfortable sort behind.

Why let the beautiful illusion shatter?

Why unveil the truth when fretful desires can chase away the dark shadows wrapped around his heart?

It is then when Finrod at last, completely and utterly, gives into his brother’s silent pleas. 

“Hush, little brother,” he whispers, whilst he pulls him close until his forehead rests against his, “it doesn’t truly matter now.”

It does matter –

It should matter –

Now probably more than ever. Finrod, golden, fair and gentle Finrod, has always been extraordinarily good at shying away from unpleasant issues. Sadly, today is no exception, and although he knows better, he pretends not to, kissing his brother as if it is their last day on earth. Instead of facing the miserable truth, wholeheartedly he delves into the sea of guilt, commits the greatest sins of all, the only one he’s never touched.

 _Cousins, brother, nephew_ –

What difference does it make when his kingdom is already infamous for reigning in decadence?

What difference does it make when, at the end, they shall all burn to dust and ash?

Much rougher than he had intended to, he shoves Orodreth back into the silks where everything started.

Being there, with Orodreth’s cock right before his eyes, leaves Finrod’s mind reeling. Never before has he seen Orodreth through the blurred vision of a lover, never before has he perceived his special charms. Although, perhaps, he shouldn’t think to wrap his lips around his cock, he can’t help himself.

_How would his brother respond if his tongue would dart out and lick along it?_

_Would he be demanding, twitching and vocal, or eerily silent when its tip brushes against his throat?_

_Would he pull his hair?_

When he kneels between his brother’s splayed legs, fantasizing about what he desires so, guilt and misery washes over him once more. Why did he hunt in a traitor’s lair when instead he could have a secret dalliance with the one he trusts and loves most of all? The one who deserves to be cherished and protected above anybody else?

Finrod wants to cry and he can't place why; out of joy and happiness? Of guilt and doubt? In desperation he reaches for Orodreth’s face, slowly covering his body with his own. It feels warm and safe, as if he’s home at last.

Finrod narrows his eyes when Orodreth reaches towards his head to run his fingers through his hair, a coy smile playing at his lips. “Stop your fretful thinking.”  In response to words and touch, he shivers, all the more when Orodreth claims his mouth in another kiss. Fierce, and rough, possessive, yet at the same time heavy with affection and sincerity. A single kiss, a touch of bodies, so very differently to everything he ever knew, especially no comparison to what he had in all the years past. Without hesitation or shame, eyes still clouded from the drug, Orodreth allows his lips to wander. From Finrod’s lips towards his nose, and from there towards his cheeks until he cries out in bliss.

In a moment of unawareness, Orodreth rolls him over. With strength and effort, he certainly could fight him – if he ever wanted to. “All these years,” he hears Orodreth whisper, too close to his ear not to shiver, “and now at last you have come.”

Guilt of a different sort begins to plague him, then. Guilt for having abandoned his beloved brother so many years ago; guilt of being so lost in the most unhealthy sort of relationship to even see his brother’s needs, blinded by his own blindness.

_Never again._

Sharp teeth against his skin tear Finrod out of his fretful musings. Teeth against the lobe of his ear, against his neck, biting so high that no courtly robe will ever hide the mark.

With pride he shall wear the memento! A week, or two. At best, all his life.

Wondrous amazement floods his mind when skillful fingers wrap around his cock. Since his dalliance with Curufin he knows quite a few intimate places to bite; so does Orodreth, though Finrod has no idea from whom exactly Orodreth learned.

Against the crook of Orodreth’s neck Finrod smiles. It’s glorious to see his brother’s dark and sinful side, something he never thought existed. Orodreth, always vulnerable and thoughtful, insecure of everything he does, playing with wax and fire. A pretty picture, indeed; a picture that provokes a different image entirely in Finrod’s mind. Of Orodreth on his hands and knees, with his back elegantly curved and his arse presented, ready for him to take.

“What?” asks Orodreth all of a sudden, when for too long Finrod is mentally absent.

Almost automatically, like a conditioned dog, Finrod wants to say ‘nothing’, forgetting that just a second ago he swore to remain faithful. “It’s interesting to see this side of you,” he admits without embarrassment.

A shadow of hurt flickers across Orodreth’s face. “If dark curls hadn’t blinded you, you could have seen this side of me so long ago.” Briefly, bitterness lingers in Orodreth voice, so prominent that it makes his heart cringe.

Finrod murmurs, reversing their position again. “I am sorry.”

And he is.

“So am I.” Orodreth’s voice is heartbreaking. Right then, Finrod doesn’t know exactly for what his brother feels apologetic for. All he knows is that in the madness his kingdom has become, Orodreth is the only one whose kindness persists, his hair the sole glimmer of gold in the bleakness of Nargothrond’s caves. With eyes partly closed he embraces him, inhales his scent, feels his skin against his own, simply enjoying the warmth his brother’s body brings him. Delicate fingers trace each new bruise, every scar on Orodreth’s body, all those unfamiliar marks which hadn’t been there on Alqualondë’s shores.

A silent promise to be faithful, to cherish what in all his vulnerability lies before him, tumbles from Finrod’s lips before he kisses him with genuine affection.

 _‘Nothing shall ever come between us,’_ Finrod swears, when with closed eyes he mouths at the edge of Orodreth’s jaw, letting just a hint of wetness and teeth show through. So vividly he already sees himself on the floor, kneeling there with only a single purpose: cherish and love what he has sworn to protect so long ago under their father’s watchful eyes that almost instantly he sinks down to caress Orodreth’s cock. It is his brother’s relentless hands that keep him where he is.  How much Orodreth enjoys himself when Finrod’s tongue flicks against his nipple, is obvious, head tilted back against the cushions, exposing the entire length of his throat.

Not for the first time tonight, temptation wins when Finrod’s teeth sink into his brother’s skin until in pain and pleasure Orodreth cries out. He is amazed by the sounds he can pull from Orodreth, resembling much the noises he makes himself whilst being fucked. And that is all he can now think about: to fuck his beloved brother until he chants and moans his name in ecstasy.

For simple consideration of how to proceed, Finrod even muses about how much experience with that sort of thing Orodreth might have; with whom he might have gained them, although this is something he doesn’t wish to think on further. Well, if he is honest, he hopes at best, no experience at all, Finrod concludes, because that would mean nothing bad had ever happened to him. Simultaneously, he wonders what exactly his brother dreams about late at night and again the swirl of images with Orodreth on all fours forms in Finrod’s mind.

_Hardly._

As if his mind is read, Orodreth whispers.  “It’s not how I want you.”

In amazement, Finrod tilts his head. It is new to him that his thoughts and emotions are so poorly concealed. “How do you want me, then?” he asks, not without a certain curiosity.

With crimson cheeks, Orodreth admits. “Against the wall, on the table – “

Finrod stares at him in unadulterated wonder. How often Orodreth watched them from the shadows, listening to their quiet whispers in Nargothrond’s hallways, Finrod doesn’t know, doesn’t dare to ask; that he has, however, is obvious. Of late, they weren’t all too discreet.

In the twilight of his brother’s rooms, Finrod blinks to rid himself of the unpleasant thoughts. The snake of a cousin is the last one he wishes to think about right now. Although perhaps Orodreth’s demand isn’t exactly what he thought to await him, there is no hesitation, no judgment in his words when he offers. “So be it.”

If it his brother’s wish to do with him as he pleases, he will gladly oblige, especially after having him neglecting for so long. With a smile he untangles himself from Orodreth’s body and slides off the bed, a mischievous expression coming over his features. Although Finrod doubts it, judging from Orodreth’s stare of surprise, he waits to see if he desires to say anything on that matter. He doesn’t, rendered speechless by what he sees: golden curls fall down upon Finrod’s shoulders, over the garment that hardly hides his well-trained body. Around his neck the Nauglamír glitters in all its glory, caressing it like the choking hands of a lover. It’s heavy, and after a while quite uncomfortable to wear, it always is, and so his fingers wander towards the golden clasp.

“Do not,” says Orodreth. And so the jewelry remains where it is.

For the first time tonight, it is Finrod’s turn to smirk as an idea faintly begins to form. The room is almost dark, the fire nothing more than embers that flicker and fade in the hearth, the candles almost burnt down, with just enough light to see each other’s faces.

By now, Finrod has to admit with certain shame, to have some routine in undressing himself in front of prying eyes. Though his brother’s gaze lingers on every inch of skin revealed, it is of an entirely different sort, one Finrod has nearly forgotten since Amarië’s days; affectionate and loving, questing but not demanding. Despite being fully exposed to Orodreth’s attention, for once, he doesn’t feel the weight of the greater scheme resting upon his shoulders. Finrod’s hands are on his thighs, just there where the garment reveals his skin, and slowly he lifts his leg to the bed to reveal his leg.

Although Orodreth’s longing to surge forward, to touch again what is only inches away, is obvious, he doesn’t, merely twitching against the silken sheets. Only when he took his fair share of admiration, Finrod’s long fingers toy with the laces of his robes, working on the knots that keep it from falling open across his chest. His brother’s self-restraint wavers, fingers nervously wandering over his skin; what exactly is on Orodreth’s mind is evidently written across his face, though Finrod doubts that Orodreth even knows he’s so easily read.

“Shall I go on?” Finrod asks, smiling, when knot after knot finally comes undone. “Or do you prefer to do it yourself?”

Orodreth only nods, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue, before he rises and comes to stand in front of him with an aura of impatience.

Where Finrod has expected gentleness, and perhaps clumsy fumbling, like something bewitched Orodreth pulls at the laces so hard that momentarily, Finrod fears his brother simply rips the flimsy fabric apart. “Throughout all the years I thought you didn’t want me,” Orodreth comments as reverently his fingers brush across Finrod’s exposed skin, as soft kisses flitter across his jaw.  

Finrod glances up at him, through his lashes, holding eye contact when he lets the flimsy garment drop down on the floor by lowering his shoulders. “Do not speak, Artaresto.”

Orodreth doesn’t take the time to appreciate the beauty laid bare before him; instead, he steps forward until their bodies are pressed flush together. He gives himself a few moments to relish in the sensation his brother’s body brings him before he embraces Finrod, and walks him in the direction of the table, their lips now closely pressed together. It’s wet, it’s fast and hectic, a kiss with too many teeth, everything fueled by too long suppressed, perhaps mutual, longing. Reverent brushes of tangled fingers across exposed skin, each touch spurring Finrod’s own desire. It feels as if he is caught in a dream; a dream he perhaps dreamt many a night in secrecy when everything was too much to bear; a dream he always denied afterwards. A dream he never thought to come alive.

The movements of his hands are guided by a mind that isn’t his own anymore, and to some extent it isn’t. Their mental link had always been strong, but now, being so close, so intimate, they almost exist as one, basking in their glow. Behind his eyelids he sees streaks of light, little coronas of violet and pink and orange like the merry dancers across the northern sky. It’s the drug coursing through his brother’s veins, often enough he saw it himself, and with his brother’s eyes he perceives his surroundings. The pain when his backside is making contact with the cold marble only faintly stirs him, then, being overwhelmed by all the emotions.

Satin hands grip Finrod’s hips and with a strength he somehow hasn’t expected, Orodreth lifts him onto the table, making his eyes flutter open. Upon instinct, and also because the marble is cold against his burning skin, Finrod curls his legs around his brother’s hips and his arms around his neck.

In the frenzy of the moment, which rather is an accumulation of many moments, of frustration and love and desperate need, Orodreth seems to forget everything; his movements are too quick, too hasty, when too much at once he wants. For once, Finrod lets him, enjoying being lavished in such a way. His brother’s touches are hard enough to bruise, hands sliding across his thighs, his side, kissing him with the strength of desire locked for ages too long. Every sound Finrod makes – and there are many, of approval, and lust – Orodreth swallows, knowing far too well where to touch and kiss him. Why, Finrod doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to ask. Slowly, Orodreth’s mouth wanders downwards, kissing along his jaw, his throat. There is an excited lump forming in Finrod’s throat that he can barely swallow around, anticipation coiling in his stomach. When morning comes, his skin will be covered in bite marks and bruises, sore and exhausted, but happy. He lets his head tip a little bit further against the wall when his brother’s questing lips reach the Nauglamír. Never could Finrod understand why this piece of jewelry intrigued so many, especially in the bedroom.

Finrod flinches when Orodreth kisses the scar on his arm Celegorm left behind when the knife slipped out of place a while ago during a foolish bedroom play. Although his brother doesn’t comment on it, Finrod is aware that he knows that this scar isn’t an ordinary one – just as the fading bruise on his ribs isn’t, and the trail of marks on his back he had covered so well the past days.

Orodreth rakes his fingers over Finrod’s skin, touching and caressing each and every bruise and scar with heartbreaking gentleness. Then he stops, looking Finrod directly into the eyes. “Why?” The word is barely there, nothing more than a stir against Finrod’s skin.

It isn’t true that everything is bad, Finrod thinks, it never has been, even though in the past few weeks it was becoming worse. “If I only knew,” Finrod admits with a sigh, burying his face in a sea of molten gold. Right then, he is not even lying.

Softly Orodreth’s hands wander along Finrod’s neck, leaving a shiver in their wake. Until his hand grips tight in his hair, disrupting Finrod’s perfect composure. “Why?”

Finrod finds himself struggling for the answer Orodreth demands. “Because – “ That Orodreth has certain aversion to Curufin, is nothing new. Why this perfect moment must be ruined, however, is new. “What is you wish to hear?” Despite the gentleness of his hands his voice his harsh.

Even in the twilight he can see Orodreth’s stormy eyes. “The truth.”

Bitterness seeps into Finrod’s voice. “Do you wish me to atone my sins before you? Judge me in the same disrespectful manner as half my kingdom judges me? Or do you rather wish to see all my weaknesses and doubts? Shall I crawl before you like the coward I am? Repenting for prostituting myself in vile hope for a glimpse of false affection?”

Orodreth shakes his head, immediately letting go of Finrod’s hair. “No,” he mumbles, rather to himself, looking down to the floor.

Unimpressed, Finrod continues with his monologue. For too long he has ignored the truth, fed himself lie after lie. “Artaresto – I have been lonely all my second life, and there is a difference between being alone, and being lonely. The former is a choice, a conscious decision. A decision made by someone who isn’t me – “

It is then, that Orodreth interrupts him. “I am sorry.” A faint kiss flitters across Finrod’s brow. “When I should have been there for you, I have not.”

Despite the gentleness in his brother’s voice, Finrod feels like crying. “You are here for me now. That is all that matters.” Finrod leans in to capture Orodreth’s lips with his own, leaving just enough space between their bodies to move a hand between them. His eyes are open, a glimpse of hope and hurt shining in them. “Let me forget my past, Artaresto. Make me forget the present, that is all I ask of you.” _The latter all the more,_ though he doesn’t say it.

In silence, Orodreth obliges.

Finrod allows himself to dissolve into his brother’s trembling touches, taut muscles and grabbing hands, whilst simultaneously he buries his fingers in Orodreth hair. With gentleness and strength alike he holds him against his lips, kissing him demanding and needy, _wanting_.

Over and over, they kiss until Finrod feels as if he can’t withstand the sweet torment anymore. He needs to feel Orodreth inside of him. In silent invitation he moves towards the edge of the table, hoping that his brother understands the hint. So occupied Orodreth is with what he does, that he doesn’t. A whisper falls from Finrod’s lips when Orodreth ignores his carnal needs. “Make haste.”

“With what?” asks Orodreth, not without letting a mischievous smirk flash.

The obscene words simply fall from Finrod’s lips. “Fuck me, already!”

A splayed hand rests against Finrod’s stomach when into his other hand, Orodreth spits in some act of savagery he doesn’t expect from his fair and noble brother. Wet fingers trail along his cock, whilst Orodreth’s lips are relentlessly working on Finrod’s neck, just there where the Nauglamír ends. When morning comes, no robe, no scarf shall be able to conceal the bruises left behind, and Finrod has never cared less.

Down Finrod’s back, Orodreth’s fingers rake, along the spine, his buttocks until one finger disappears in the cleft between them. The sudden heat surging through Finrod’s body, in combination with the cold air singing off the edge of his arousal, causes his skin to prickle until Orodreth’s exaggerated gasp of shock disrupts the silence.

All too easily, his brother’s finger slipped inside him. Well, Finrod thinks, damning his foolishness. The little detail of what he was doing before he came, never seemed worth mentioning, something he now dearly regrets.

Orodreth freezes, and the question on his side remains unsaid.

“No,” Finrod answers him aloud, sensing more than Orodreth probably wishes for. It is obvious that his brother, despite his denial, still searches for the lie that isn’t there.  “I couldn’t sleep and thought this might help.”

The notion that, perhaps, his brother should be grateful for it as it can be a tedious affair, Finrod bites back immediately – such harshness doesn’t have a place tonight. Not now, not when the last taboo falls and their thoughts and desires are, at last, laid bare. To emphasize his sincerity, Finrod takes his brother’s hands into his own, placing an affectionate kiss on each temple.

“I am not lying to you, Artaresto. I never have.”

Instead of saying something, Orodreth wraps his arms around Finrod’s hips, moving him closer to the edge of the table and pushing his upper body backwards at the same time. Against Finrod’s lips, he whispers then, “I know.” Finrod’s hands are pressed flat against the polished marble when Orodreth sinks inside him with too little resistance, wishing for pain of a different, and far more pleasant sort, to erase the bitterness of the pain he already feels. As if his mind is read, without warning, Orodreth takes him with a first rough thrust, his cock filling him completely.

Out of surprise, Finrod arches his back, as much as his brother’s grip, which is sure to bruise, allows it. Of late, it was not unusual that he was taken twice or thrice a night, yet he can’t remember when last he felt so desperate. It is his brother’s loving nature he craves, his touch, his lips, and he’d be lying if he said that the illicit nature of doesn’t add to the excitement he feels.

Perhaps this is what he’s been wanting – all his life.

The sound falling from Orodreth’s dry lips when Finrod clenches his legs around him is no less than delicious and in the sanctuary of Orodreth’s chambers it isn’t even too loud. There is no danger of being caught, no danger of being interrupted whilst swimming in a sea of pleasure. Nargothrond is timid and drowsy at this hour, but one can never know with false friends lurking around every corner.

If I had only known, repeatedly it floods Finrod’s mind.

_If I had only known what pleasures I could feel under your hands, brother mine._

At first, their hands and lips moved together; now, their bodies are moving in the same rhythm, too. Finrod’s hips roll to match the each and every thrust, until a silent plea brushes against his lips. Orodreth’s begging lights a fire in him, and roughly he fists his brother’s hair – he wants everything he never had, all at once; to feel him, let him fuck him, kiss him until dawn comes. His brother’s eagerness inflames him, all the more when Orodreth escapes his hold and dips his head lower. Onto a nipple he latches his tongue, licking it at first before he sucks hard at it until Finrod cries out.  

Sublime affection, combined with the rough sensation of yanked hair, sends Finrod close to the edge. It’s more a tussle than making love, and it is exactly what he wants. What he _needs_.

Amidst their moans and gasps, a laugh invades the heated air; it’s a derisive sound, low and deep, and every part of their secret moment, Finrod encapsulates in his mind. With dreadful bitterness that has no place right here and then, he remembers his dreams of late: a time will come, when all he can feast upon, are faint memories.

Finrod’s composure falters, and luckily, Orodreth is too occupied with what he is doing to even notice. Murmured words brush against his brother’s skin. “Kiss me, Artaresto. Make me forget everything I know.” Without having to be told twice, Orodreth leans in until no space remains between their bodies, kissing his brother as he has dreamt for so long.

Each hard thrust is punctuated by the scratch of nails against Finrod’s side, immediately followed by a sharp gasp, and somewhere in-between he even prays for the table to be sturdy enough. Finrod whimpers, the sensation of the moment so powerful. Well, it is not only him who is affected; perspiration beads upon his brother’s brow, cheeks flushed and glowing scarlet.

When Orodreth’s pace quickens, and his nails sink deeper into his skin, Finrod indulgently tilts his head to the side for Orodreth to suck his skin again, an invitation his brother willingly accepts. In turn, he lets go of the table, and brings his hands to Orodreth’s neck, pulling him closer towards himself. The shift in angle drives a shock of pleasure up his spine, provokes the filthiest of sounds of which Finrod is entirely unashamed of. He’s loud – they both are – and it’s the most beautiful crescendo he has ever heard. He reaches down, raking his fingertips against his cock until Orodreth slaps them away. Dimly he hears Orodreth’s voice, not understanding what he says, but gratefully his brother’s fingers enwrap his cock.

If the roughness comes from the drug or if this is simply Orodreth’s natural way – or worse: if he tries to pretend to be somebody else, although the snide remarks are missing, Finrod doesn’t exactly know; without doubt, it is wonderful. Despite his fine manners and fair looks he sometimes greatly enjoys it coarse and rough, at least when he is at the receiving end.

_Are they indeed so alike, not only in their appearance?_

Not for the first time this night, Finrod feels apologetic for how poorly he knows the one he proclaims to love most, contemplates all the years they have lost. Many a secret night they could have spent together in the refuge of his kingdom, share side long glances only they would understand. Of cavern walls, Finrod thinks, of gushing waterfalls and secret stairways, twisting and spiraling into endless heights.

It’s a shame, truly.

As if to apologize for all things lost in vain, he kisses him – hard and almost brutal, devoid of his infamous gentleness. In rhythmic unison with their frantic movements, the Nauglamír rattles like chains, and the cacophony of the clinging metal chases away the last remnants of quiet (though admittedly, nothing is ever quiet when Finrod is involved; not with Orodreth, who is even louder than Finrod himself).

Sweat shines across his brother’s brow, and his blue eyes are dark like the stormy sea is – a sight Finrod will never forget as long as he might live.

Finrod shivers. It isn’t from the cold seeping through Nargothrond’s cavernous walls, nor from the guilt he should feel but doesn’t; it is from his own brother’s lips which so wonderfully bite him here and there; it is from the slender fingers pressing right into his hips where Orodreth knows well he always had been ticklish; it is their unique connection, his brother’s cock burning inside him like fire. Despite his resolve to last, to make _this_ and their love for each other last forever, a searing heat begins to coil in his stomach, flooding him, drowning him in the torrents of orgasm.

“Artaresto,” Finrod mumbles, then, almost pleading.

“Brother, mine,” Orodreth responds, whispered words against the crook of Finrod’s neck.

Blissful moans escape when for seconds their mouths part, which doesn’t occur quite often; too irresistible it is to exist as one, to feel and conceive the endless love they only now found.

The pace of Finrod’s breath grows faster against Orodreth’s lips, as his orgasm begins to crawl down his spine. How Orodreth manages to keep his pace with astonishing ease, ignoring all the whimpers and encouraging sounds tumbling form his lips, will remain a mystery. It’s a cruel torment, one Finrod still wishes to never end, although he doubts that he can withstand the temptation of climax forever. 

As if Orodreth hears – and ignores – the silent plea, at first he stops, until Finrod is close to screaming, before everything begins anew with increased intensity until desperation wins. Taking a deep breath, Finrod hears himself begging for mercy, for Orodreth to stop and to continue.  

He is tempting him now, pushing inside only a little, just enough for his tip to sink side Finrod’s warmth before he pulls out completely. And then he repeats the motion, fucking him slow and deliberate.

It’s madness of the most exquisite sort, the strangled noises telling as much.

When everything becomes too much; too burning; too sensual and his senses are hypersensitive, tingling upon the most wonderful sensation, his head falls onto Orodreth’s shoulder, and in silence he reaches for him.

 _‘Not enough, never enough,’_ whispers a nagging voice in his head, and though Finrod knows it is folly, he still fights his orgasm.

The last moments pass in complete silence, something highly unusual for Finrod, who never can quite keep his mouth shut. Right now, he can, and instead of pretending something he doesn’t mean, he focuses on the lustful expression displayed upon his brother’s face. He feels himself start to float into a blissful heaven, feels the tensions in his muscles, and most importantly begins to feel Orodreth’s lips against his own all over again.

Words, even the smallest ones, are dispensable when supreme affection and understanding reigns their minds and hearts. Finrod climaxes suddenly, voice breaking like a cry in the wilderness of Taur-en-Faroth when he chants of his brother’s name and incoherent words mix and mingle. Between their bodies his cock twitches, once, twice, before finally the maelstrom tears him apart. Warm seed spurts across their skin, creating messy patterns on their already patterned bodies.

“Findaráto,” Orodreth begins before a strangled moan chokes him breathless. Finrod feels, hears and sees him climax just shortly after him; how his mouth falls open, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and although he gaps for air he can scarcely breathe. The already shallow thrusts become more and more out of rhythm and unpracticed, just before Finrod feels warm seed filling him. Right then, he is at a loss of what to do, conflicting desires reigning. As much as he wishes to watch Orodreth come undone he wishes to kiss him, to swallow each and every moan. And so he does.

Orodreth collapses against Finrod’s body with a sigh, shaking and trembling in the arms which are still wrapped around him. Affectionately, Finrod brushes a strand of stray hair out of his brother’s face, pressing their foreheads together in deep understanding. So many things there are he wishes to say, so many words he had thought but never spoken out aloud, so many apologies and dreams to share. Languidly, and with the laziness of post-orgasmic haze, Finrod kisses him.

When they part, Orodreth looks at him, eyes bright and dark at the same time. All of a sudden, piercing through the veil of sin, Orodreth’s insecurity is back when carefully he asks: “Will you accompany me to bed, at least for a while?”

Finrod’s hands reach out to hold his brother’s face, so beautiful and warm against his shaking hands. “I will.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you came here for the happy elves tag, I strongly advise you to stop reading after this chapter.


	2. Orodreth

**Orodreth**

*****

He is stirring awake when he feels hands caressing him, lips searching for what exactly he doesn’t know. “I thought you had left,” Orodreth murmurs with the haze of slumber still clouding his eyes. Nevertheless, he sees his brother’s fair face above him, feeling a comfortable weight settling on top of him.

Gentle fingers cup his face before a kiss is places upon his lips. “Why should I leave so soon when only yesterday I’ve found you?” asks Finrod, a smile brighten his features.

Although he responds to Finrod’s questing fingers and despite the sensuality of the touches, resentment lingers in Orodreth’s mind. “Will you return to him?”

Finrod shakes his head. “I won’t,” he says with so much sincerity that, for once, Orodreth believes him. “I am tired of dismissals and aimless searching.”

With a smile on his lips he wraps his arms around his brother’s neck, pulling him close. “And you will not tire of me?”

With an expression of guilt, Finrod looks away, finally confessing what originally had brought him here last night. “I shall not live long enough to ever tire of you, brother mine,” before he kisses him deeply as if to apologize for the words yet unsaid.

“Barahir has come to redeem the oath.”

 

*

When word about his brother’s death at last reaches the gloominess of Nargothrond, the parchment Finrod left behind, the night he set off, is already nothing more than a crumpled mess in Orodreth’s hands, thanks to a thousand reads. With streaks of tears adorning his fair face and shaking hands, he re-reads line by line, as memories of what they shared near the end overwhelm him.

 

_I meant, you meant, that nothing should remain_

_Unsaid between us, brother, and this remained –_

_And one thing more that was not then to say:_

_The Victory for what I lost and gained_

_The night when nothing else remained unsaid._

_In love, Findaráto. (*)_

_Until we meet again, brother mine,_ Orodreth writes onto the damp parchment in all his helpless misery when flames and darkness mingle in the serenity of his chambers.

 

*

Many years later, deceived and broken, on the plains of Tumhalad, when everything his brother had left behind is lost, it is these lines that he reads before the worm’s golden flames embrace him and his world ends in fire.

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (*) Parts taken from Robert Frost's 'To T. E.' - the title can also be blamed on him

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [saurgristiel](http://saurgristiel.tumblr.com/) for beta reading this story for me.


End file.
